


Into the Arms of Death... and Life

by ParisianPatate



Series: Kindred Spirits [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Asra (The Arcana) Route Spoilers, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Gen, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Julian Devorak's Route Spoilers, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Missing Memories (The Arcana), Named Apprentice (The Arcana), POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Pre-prologue (The Arcana), Red Plague (The Arcana), Sweet Asra (The Arcana), The Lazaret (The Arcana)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParisianPatate/pseuds/ParisianPatate
Summary: A story told in two parts: Relive some of your forgotten memories of your time during the Red Plague leading up to your death... and right when you come back to life.This story is written in First Person POV , and I did not use ANY pronouns for MC, so all can enjoy! I did have to use a name, though (Kealla), so I hope you don't mind temporarily adopting it.
Relationships: Apprentice & Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Aunt (The Arcana) & Apprentice
Series: Kindred Spirits [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728517
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, Happy Quarantine.
> 
> I am pretty sure these world events are what possessed me to want to write about the Red Plague and MC's time during it and... afterwards. 
> 
> I also desperately wanted to fill in the blanks that the creators of the Arcana left about the backstory of the Apprentice (I LOVE me some backstory). And I definitely felt that this is one of the things I wanted to know the most about.
> 
> I would HIGHLY recommend finishing Julian's and Asra's routes before reading. Otherwise, you'll have some surprises.
> 
> Anyway, my mom enjoyed this (Happy Birthday, Mom!). I hope you do too.

**Into the Arms of Death…**

*********

I slide into the back room of my home and stand in the center of the floor for a moment. I gaze at the ceiling above me as I steadily breathe in the floral scent of my mask. Exhaustion grips my whole body. Very gingerly, I begin to remove my gear to sanitize it. I am used to this nightly ritual after weeks… _or has it been months?_... of trying to combat this damned plague. Just as I finish, a raucous cough rings out from the other room. My blood turns to ice. That is the exact sound I have heard all day, and have been hearing everyday, for what feels like an eternity now.

I place my gear out to dry and pad past the protective tarp separating my makeshift sanitation room from our living spaces. “Aunty?” I call out softly. Once I step into the main room, I freeze as I look at the figure huddled on the bed by the opposite wall. It slowly turns to look at me. My aunt smiles up at me softly, then grimaces as another coughing fit comes over her. I stay rooted to the spot. Without wanting to, I tick off all of the symptoms I observe from across the room. My habits have overridden my freewill now. The rattling cough, her body drenched in sweat, her shivering from head to toe... And, unmistakably, a thin, red line surrounding her blue irises. Indisputably, all early signs of infection from the Red Plague.

Once she stops coughing, she gives me a painful smile. “I haven’t been feeling very well today, my dear.”

We both look at each other for a moment, completely immobile. Each of us is fearful of betraying what we both know through movement. I am finally the one to break the spell. “I’m just going to put my gear back on, okay?” I try to keep my voice neutral, terrified that it’ll reveal the anguish that I hold inside of me. She nods again and smiles reassuringly. 

Once I step back into my sanitation room and close the tarp behind me, I crouch into a ball on the floor. Every single day I’ve worked desperately to contain this curse, only to have it follow me home and take the last person I love away. I bite my hand to repress the tears that I feel well up in my eyes. If I start sobbing now, I’ll never stop. Plus, this is far from the kind of distress she needs right now. I compose myself and stand. I slip on my large boots, long gloves, and throw my floor-length over-coat over my head. I shakily put my beak-shaped mask on and step back into the main room.

I sit down in front of my aunt and begin a proper examination of her. I take her heart rate and listen to her rattling breath. Then, I take her temperature. While I do so, I ask her how she is feeling. She tells me that she is quite sore, and feels rather cold. I mark down everything she discloses and all of my observations. She sounds like any of my other plague patients. That thought is so much more devastating than what I have experienced in this hell thus far. 

She smiles sheepishly. “I am sorry that you are taking care of me, now.” She laughs bashfully, which triggers another coughing fit. When she calms herself, she continues. “The last thing I wanted was for you to have to worry about me, too.”

“Me, worry about you?” I joke from behind my mask. “You’re the least of my worries. You’re so strong.” A lie. We both know it. 

I do my best to soothe her aches and warm her up. I take two gourds and fill them with boiling water, before wrapping them tightly and laying them under the covers with her. We chat late into the night. She starts out with fun little anecdotes about my parents. Then, her words become slurred and unclear. I listen attentively, trying to understand what she is communicating to me. But I can feel her slipping away from me slowly. I tell her to rest her body and that we’ll continue talking in the morning. She turns to face the wall and I stroke her back with my gloves. When she lulls into sleep, I slump into my chair. My eyes droop with exhaustion, but I know there is one final thing I must do before I retire for a few hours. I drop my uniform in the sanitation area and make my way upstairs. 

I step into my room. At my desk lays a pen and a stack of parchment. I sit down at it, like so many nights before, to write to my mentor. Instead of recapitulating the newest observations I have made, I write a different letter. 

_Doctor Julian Devorak,_

_I will need to take a leave of absence, effective immediately. My responsibilities to the citizens of Vesuvia weigh heavily on my heart, but my aunt has fallen ill with the Red Plague. I must aid her to the best of my ability while I still can._

_I only plan for this to be temporary. I do hope that you will find another hand who can complete my rounds while I am away._

_Best,_

_Kealla Withernshot._

I fold the parchment into the envelope and stamp it shut with wax. I slip out of my house and knock on the neighbors’ door. Their young son answers it, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “If you could please bring this to the Doctor, and with haste.” I give him a gold piece. He’s used to these correspondences by now, and he quickly races on his route. 

I step back inside and collapse onto my bed. I am asleep in an instant. 

***

I jolt awake every couple of hours to tend to my aunt. She is deteriorating rapidly. Her moaning from pain constantly rings in my ears now. I can’t stand it anymore. The topical medical treatments are doing nothing to help.

I know when I get like this, I am very susceptible to doing something stupid. I frankly don’t care at this point. My fatigue, not just in my body, but in my mind, is pushing me into recklessness.

I decide that I will use magic on her. The second the thought comes to mind, I can hear Asra scolding me. _Always remember that healing someone through magic puts you at risk of contracting the same ailments._ He was always weary to over-exert our powers, insisting that we should only use it for minor healings if it came down to it. But we never had to face a situation so dire. At least, _HE_ never did, since he always prefered to run away.

That thought makes me boil with anger and I quickly repress it. I breathe deeply into my mask and recenter myself. I’ll just channel the energy _out_ through me, and ascertain that I don’t take anything _in_ from my aunt. It has to work. I have no other choice. 

I’ve never tried to heal through thick gloves, and I’m not sure how successful it will be. While I may be rash, I can’t be blatantly stupid. I tell myself that I cannot, and _will not,_ take them off under any circumstances.

I first picture a thick protection forming around myself, one that doesn’t allow disease to taint myself or my aura. Then, I think soothing thoughts. I think of painlessness, and bliss. I cannot feel the precise pains she is going through since I cannot allow myself to take in any of her energy. As a result, I just have to make an undefined sweep over her whole body and hope it works. I tremble as I do so, terrified at miscalculating. 

Her whimpering slowly dies out, and she falls into a peaceful sleep. I exhale with relief. I close my eyes and study my own body and spirit now. I only feel a little drained from the exertion, but everything seems to be healthy. _I did it._

Since she has stilled for the time being, I take the opportunity to get out of my stifling gear and collapse on my bed once more. But I am awoken more and more frequently by her soft groans bleeding up the stairs. 

I no longer have time to sleep in my room. Whenever I manage to ease her into rest, I lay down in the middle of the floor and sleep. The mask is bulky and hot, and I frequently awaken, my brain screaming at me that I’m suffocating. On one occasion, I still feel my breathing constricted long after I sit up. I burst into the washroom and yank off my mask. Cool air starts to fill my lungs. I breathe it in, savoring the delicious sensation. I can feel how fatigued my whole body is, and it’s continuing to worsen. I know that I’ve reached my limit. 

I remove all of my gear and let the water run from the tap. I splash some on my face as I think.

I grasp the edges of the water bassin as I come to terms with something that I already knew but chose to ignore. My power is limited. If I continue to exert myself, as I have been, I will no longer be able to get up.

I can no longer aid my aunt.

My grip tightens as I droop my head over the bassin in front of me. I am defeated. I stand motionless for a while, letting the reality seep in through the silence. Before I get the chance to move, I feel a sharp pinch in my right hand. I remove it immediately from the bassin and look at it. 

It only takes me a second to recognize the red shell of one of the beetles that have infested all of Vesuvia. We aren’t sure what their link to this plague is yet, just that they appeared around the same time. I quickly flick it off and crush it underfoot. Blood spills from the wound and I immediately run my hand under the water. I take a long time to heal the bite with my magic. I can feel that it is far less potent. I have put my body through too much strain. 

Once it is sealed, I dress myself in my gear and lie down on the floor of the main room once more. 

I can hear my aunt whimper in the bed beside me, but I cannot help. I reach up to hold her hand through my glove. My exhaustion is so profound that I simply fall asleep through the noise. 

*** 

I wake up sluggishly sometime later. I feel that something is off in my body. I go to sit up and find that I can only do so with immeasurable effort. I groan out in pain, every inch of my body seized in agony. _It can’t be._ Panic takes hold of me. I stumble into the washroom again and throw off my mask. At a first glimpse, all I can see is the flash of crimson staining the whites of my eyes. _It can’t be._ I curse loudly. _I did everything right._ I breathe heavily as I look into my reflection. _And yet, here I am._

I throw the mask across the room and yell out in anger. I rip off my gloves and overcoat to throw them after it. I kick my boots off and fling them over just as unceremoniously. I start to pant from the effort and have to stop to catch my breath. I look back in my pathetic reflection again. Two red scleras glare back at me tauntingly. I am shaking weakly now, I can’t help but feel the cold. 

There’s no denying it. I am now one of the infected. And from the looks of it, it’s progressed even more rapidly than my aunt. 

I curse loudly once more. I’ll never know if I was just susceptible to this disease, or if the reckless manner in which I led my life these past few days is what ultimately provoked my downfall. In my haste to find a solution, I ignored the number one rule of magic : you can never know what the full consequences of your actions will be. I know one question will haunt the rest of my limited days... 

Did I just extend my aunt’s life, and ultimately her suffering, to shorten mine? 

I can feel my breathing become more raspy, now. The coughing will soon follow. 

I walk into the main room without my attire for the first time in days. I feel naked without it.The air in here is almost as stuffy as it was under my mask. I see my aunt lying on her bed. Her whimpering has ceased completely. All I hear now is her rattling breath.

It won’t be long for her, now. 

I reach down and tentatively touch her head. This is the first time I’ve felt her without my gloves in what feels like forever. Two people, the last of a family, Damned. Them, and what feels like everyone else in this city. I climb into bed with her and wrap my arms around her frail figure. I bury my face into her back and hold her tightly. I feel the gentle up-and-down movement of her chest, and yet, she doesn’t stir to greet me. I have no way of knowing if she can feel me now. Hot tears start to drip from my eyes and I desperately suppress the sobs as they come. I cannot stop weeping. My whole body convulses as I try. I finally let it wash over me, and my wails pierce the quiet room. I’ve officially given up. I soak her back with my teardrops, and still, she does not stir. Drained of all of my remaining energy, I slumber.

*** 

When I awaken again, I need a moment to resituate myself. I am still holding onto my aunt tightly. Yet, something feels off. I notice that she is completely still. I fall out of the bed in my haste to distance myself from her immobile body. I sit on the floor, heart pounding in my ears. The silence that sits over the house is oppressive. I had gotten used to her rattling breath and quiet sobs and, in some distorted way, was comforted by them. It was my first indication of knowing that she was still alive. 

I am afraid to confront the inevitable. I cannot get up to check her more closely for signs of life. Or to gain… closure. A coughing fit overcomes me, tearing me away from my standstill. Once I calm myself, I pull myself up and turn her around to face me. She moves like a lifeless doll. Her face is contorted, no air enters or escapes her lips. 

I scream in agony. It reverberates through the house and provokes a fiery explosion. I must have lost control of my magic through my distress. When I recover from the initial shock, I notice that fire licks the walls and nips at all of the furniture. It grows rapidly and consumes my whole world, and my aunt along with it. 

I turn from her for the last time and burst out of the front door, falling onto my hands and knees in the street. I can hear the roar of the flames behind me and feel their heat spit in the air. 

A tall figure runs up and crouches down next to me. “Are you okay??” he asks, panicked. I look up into the beaked-face of a man. His lanky form is illuminated by the glow of the fire, and his animated voice rings with familiarity in my ears. I recognize him immediately. 

“K- Kealla?” He whispers my name, his gaze fixing my blood-red scleras. His breath cuts short. 

“I - I…” he tries to compose himself. “I wanted to come check on your aunt and… and you.” His voice trails off. 

After staring at each other for a long moment, he gently helps me to my feet. He looks down at me pitifully while his tender leathered-grip steadies me under my elbows. What else is there to say?

I cough and make him jump. Once I calm my throat, I lick my chapped-lips fatalistically and look up at him through glossy eyes. “Well, Doctor Devorak. Lead the way.” 

In my delirium, a ghastly smile crawls to my lips. I can only imagine how macabre the whole scene looks to him. He lets go of my elbows and turns in quiet resignation. 

I follow his booted footsteps through the cobbled streets. Behind me, shouts are heard as city workers run to contain the spread of the fire. For so long I tried to contain the inevitable obliteration of this city. And here I am, walking away from it for the last time, at the head of a trail of destruction. 

We wordlessly weave through the dense buildings. The crowded structures become sparse as we approach the sound of the sea. The whispering of the waves washes over the silent city and soothes my sluggish brain. We walk toward the docks to meet the grim figures ahead. When I step onto the wooden planks, the beaked-man halts behind me. I know he will not continue. I look back at him. We meet each other's eyes in pain and sorrow. Though unspoken, I can read his gaze behind his mask. _I, too, only await death._ I turn away.

I march to meet the masses at the end of the docks. Young and old line up patiently in front of me. Anyone and everyone who is strong enough to walk but too sick to save. I am only another diseased face in the crowd now. 

We are shepherded onto boats and are pushed out over the water and waves. We inch our way closer to our final destination. I look up to take in the sight of the billowing black smoke pouring out of the tall crematorium chimneys. _It must be nice to finally feel warm again._ I shiver violently, along with many surrounding me. 

Maybe we’ve been at sea for years. I curl my head into my arms on my lap and feel the gentle sway of the boat. Time warps around me as my fever takes hold of my sanity. I feel like we’ll all float for the rest of eternity, that is, until the boat scrapes the shallow shore and I jolt upright. The people sitting on the edges start to disembark and move toward the dormitories next to the crematorium. 

Black soot covers every surface of the island, and seems to cling to the air. I feel larger particles tickle my face and my lungs. I start coughing again, one small voice in a large symphony. 

A young man turns toward me and extends a hand to aid my descent from the boat. His gesture snaps me out of my daze. Once I stand before him on the black and sticky sand, I look up at him.

“Thank you.” I manage to rattle out. He simply places a hand to my cheek for a moment. We both stand, feverishly savoring the last moments of human contact. Then, he turns to follow the throng. I file into the dormitories behind him.

I look around at all of the sallow faces, numb at the face of death. We are ready to go out in a whisper, without any real or lasting impact on this earth. Those that are in better health crowd around on the floor due to a lack of available beds. Those that are breathing their final breaths lie on the metal cots. 

A hulking figure steps into the room and bangs on a large metal lid, calling the attention of those that are still cognitive. His face is completely masked by what looks like a welding mask. His body is covered from head-to-toe in a thick suit. 

“Listen up.” His voice, though muffled by the mask, easily booms over the still room. “Those of you that are well enough to stand, you will be assigned one of two roles. You will either check on the sickest all around you, and assist them to the best of your ability in whatever they may need…” He takes a breath. “Or, you will help _us_ at the crematorium. We need the strongest to wrap those that have passed into their sheets and haul them into the furnaces.” His tone is detached, he speaks of this with banality. No one is shocked by his words, or the tasks at hand. A person can do anything when they know they are condemned.

“Now, who’s helping?” he asks.

I shakily stand along with a few other individuals. I am tasked with assisting those on their way to death. I bring water to the lips of many in the hours that follow. I tenderly tuck the sickest into their final resting position. I accompany a few on their last walk to the lavatory. I feel nothing but the cold and pain gripping my whole being. I keep moving until I collapse. 

I lie on the floor, shivering violently, until strong arms pick me up and lie me on a cot. I feel the light sheet tucked around me now. Water runs down my throat every once and awhile. It temporarily soothes my raspy breathing, only for my coughing to quickly recommence.

As I lie and wait, memories come floating back to me. Of my Aunt, of my city, of my past. 

Of Asra.

His warmth, his all encompassing love. I think of running my hands through his curls while we doze on the beach. Of the first kiss we shared. Dancing at the masquerades. When I moved him into his own shop. The sleepless nights I stayed with him there, holding him and philosophizing about life and the human experience. I feel like I am drowning in my memories. I had repressed them in my mind since he had left, so angry and unsure of how to cope. But now, all I can feel is my love for him. It grows and suffocates me.

It makes me remember my most painful memory of him. The last time I saw him. The terrible things I said to him as he was going to leave… 

The terrible things I said that made him leave. 

My body is utterly depleted. I no longer have the energy to cough. Still, these emotions bubble up inside of me and my eyes manage to produce a few, solitary tears. My breathing is more laborious now. This will be the last time that I can say anything to him. I beg the universe to let him hear it as the tears continue to drip from my eyes.

“I’m… sorry.” 

As the words fall from my lips, I feel myself fade into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**…and Life.**

*********

  
  


My eyes flutter open. A dense forest canopy is all I can see directly above me. I contemplate it for a moment, trying to understand. _What_ is it?

What am _I?_

All I know is that I am thoughts, a sensation in a vibrant world around me. AlI I feel is the ground underneath me and the light breeze race over my body.

“ _KEALLA, KEALLA!!_ ” A noise breaks through the stillness around me. A warm presence falls beside me and sweeps me into their embrace, wrapping me tightly into a large cloth. A tousle of white hair tickles my forehead as I am pulled closer. Then... wet. I feel drops fall onto my face as the warm presence shakes and sniffles into me. I look up and see a beautiful visage. Soft features are crunched up in pain. Tears fall on my cheeks as they escape from the eyes looking down at me.

“You’re…” I feel the presence take a deep breath. “You’re _alive,_ ” he whispers disbelievingly.

I don’t know why, but I want to reach up and hold him. Comfort him. But I cannot. I am unable to move. All I can do is lie in his arms as he holds me and sobs. 

“Asra,” a deep voice interrupts. I hear steps come closer to us, and feel a hand pulled away from my back. “You need to heal this, first.”

The beautiful face looks up at the looming presence that holds his hand. I see the palm is stained red, and blood continues to seep from a gash on it. Underneath us, intricate symbols are drawn on the ground. They hold the exact same color. 

Asra regains his composure and responds, face still moist. “You’re right, Muriel. I wouldn’t do anyone any good by bleeding out here.” The looming figure just grunts in response. 

I watch as Asra concentrates on his palm. Suddenly, I feel a rush flow through his body. It makes me tingle where our skin touches. Then, I watch in awe as the cut seals right before my eyes. He catches me staring, and gives me a small smile. It quickly falls to concern.

“Do you… Can you not understand what I just did?” 

I look at him in confusion. I try to open my mouth, and make the words as he so effortlessly does. Only an undefined noise comes out.

His eyes widen in fear. Then, he pulls me closer to him once more.

“I guess that’s to be expected… you’ve.. You’ve been through so much.” He sighs. “I can’t just expect you to be as you were before. At least...” he looks down at me and caresses my cheek gently. “At least not right away.”

Fatigue washes over me. I fight to keep my eyes open. There is so much I need to understand. So much I still need to learn. But my body begs for rest.

I feel the warm presence shift underneath me, then rise. The soft sound of crunching footsteps echoes in the air around me. 

“Asra…” it’s the deep voice again. “I should be the one to carry Kealla since you... Since your heart…” Muriel hesitates. His words drip with concern.

I feel Asra grasp me tighter, pulling me closer to him. “Thank you Muriel, but I don’t think I’ll be able to let go for awhile.” They continue treading through the forest. “Besides, I feel much better than expected…” He stops and turns to him. “Thank you for keeping an eye on me.”

Another grunt.

My weariness overtakes me now and I close my eyes again. My face is tucked into Asra’s neck. The gentle sway of his body as he moves through the undergrowth starts lulling me to sleep. I may not know much, but I do know how wonderful it feels to be so warm, so safe, in his arms. He is my tether to the outside world. I know inside of me that he will guide me through all of it, with the same love and care I have felt from him since the beginning. I feel myself drift into unconsciousness, comforted by his steady presence… and a strong heartbeat pulsing gently in his chest, as if it’s speaking directly to mine.


End file.
